


a house is not a home.

by mitsurugikun



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Guns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsurugikun/pseuds/mitsurugikun
Summary: Merlin laments his new life. Post-TGC AU.





	a house is not a home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u mhmoony for letting me spout pain at u lmao, not beta’d or brit-picked, lots of vomit.

It’s felt like it’s only been a few weeks since Kingsman stopped Poppy, Merlin’s tattered body was retrieved and barely made a full recovery, and Tequila began to shadow them at Kingsman, aiding in them in their rebuild. However, it hasn’t been a few weeks. More like a bit over 5 months. Merlin is still in physical therapy (he’s been awake for 3 and a half months) as he gets used to his prosthetic legs, and Kingsman trials are still on hold while Merlin is out of commission to train the new recruits. An upside is that as the as the world keeps turning, Harry’s memories would come back to him one by one. He’s well enough to be on the field, and he remembers enough of who he is to be a proper agent.

Although, there’s a lull in his progress as he doesn’t seem to recall anything new, and he’s convinced that’s all that’s left he needs to remember. Merlin wishes that with the landmine doing such extreme damage to his body that he too would also forget, but he doesn’t. 

To be quite frank, it sucks.

He wants Harry to remember the 30 years of history they have, and he does. If only it were to the extent that remembered how they fell in love, anniversaries, intimate details Merlin couldn’t imagine sharing with anyone else, then maybe he’d feel more at peace with it all. Alas, that’s not that case, but he can at least be thankful that Harry is alive and well (enough).

With the day coming to a close, Merlin leans back in his desk chair, stretching out his arms as his eyes scan his multiple monitors. He’s spent some time handling the details of the next mission for Galahad and Tequila. Nothing extreme merely a recon mission in a remote area of Lithuania to gain information on the target that recently passed through the small nearby towns. If he were in better shape, they would’ve been able to take the target down with little damage and no public attention, but physical therapy and counseling take him away from his desk more often than he would like to.

“Hamish?”

Merlin’s surprised when he hears his name. Not many people know it, let alone the agents of Kingsman. He doesn’t react because after a moment, the answer is suddenly obvious (yet still unnerving). He responds with, “What do you need, Arthur?” without turning to look his way. He almost calls him Galahad, but that’s almost more painful as his Harry died with Galahad in Kentucky. Eggsy is rightfully the new Galahad.

“Oh, come now, Merlin. There’s no need formalities off the clock.”

“I am still at my desk. I am still working on blueprints and mission details. I am still on the clock,” he insists. Although, really, there is no clock with Kingsman. It’s a moment to moment basis.

“Well, I have personal matters to discuss with my friend Hamish, if you don’t mind, Merlin.” The words leave Harry so matter-of-factly that it hurts him to be so sure that they really are simply friends. Merlin lifts his eyebrows then frowns, watching the agent from the corner of his eye make way to the only other chair in his office. He spins in his seat turning to face Harry, lips pressed together. 

“Alright. You have my attention. What is it?”

Merlin notes the smirk on Harry’s lips, the way he straightens up like he’s done something that warrants complimenting. What a peacock. 

“I have a date.” 

If he was any more still and deadpan than he already was, Merlin might as well have been paralyzed or dead. His heart certainly stopped beating and there’s a swelling within him that makes it hard to breathe. Something is crawling beneath his skin, his mouth is dry, and every muscle he’s aware of is tight. If he was wearing his prosthetic legs, he’s sure they’d be tensed as well. 

“And why the hell do I need to know that, you daft idiot? I thought it was something serious.” This is serious. In a different way.

“Like you’re not interested in my personal life,” the other retorts, playful in his tone. But then Harry’s smile and expression are sincere. The dimples in his cheeks make Merlin flutter on the inside amidst the painful stirring within himself. “I wanted to talk to you because you’re my best friend, Merlin. I may not remember a lot of things, but being best friends could never be one of them.” 

If they’d broken eye contact, Merlin would be convinced he was dreaming.

“Besides, it’s about time one of us found a lad to settle down with!”

“Don’t become a predator, you codger,” he teases in return, despite the tightness in his chest.

The rest of evening involves listening to Harry’s date plans. He feels envious of the gentleman he met at the pub because it’s certainly a more elaborate and romantic date than anything Harry’s taken Merlin on. Not that he’d want those things, but when Harry isn’t his, he can’t help wishful thinking. He also can’t help but wonder if Harry was this enthusiastic about planning the moments that they got to spend together. 

Although he’d much rather get back to his work, the opportunity to talk to Harry like this: mindlessly with playful banter and talking of moments during their day, and what not. It’s like going home before he remembers how much home really hurts, and that there’s no home like that really anymore. Kingsman is enough of home as he can get, and honestly, there are worse places to feel comfortable enough in. 

Harry doesn’t invade his office again uninvited for another three months. Merlin hasn’t heard a word of this date, and their communication has been strictly business. Soon enough after their talk, Harry was more often than not his role of Arthur and was whisked away with Galahad and Tequila. They needed as many agents as they had (which really wasn’t many) to go on the field, so that meant farewell for some time. Also, with lack of back-up, it meant taking their time as well. Without Harry around to parade the agency, to remind him of the sweet quirks and tom-foolery that made Harry so endearing in the first place, he likes to think that he’s recovered from the idea that his life will go back to his old normal. Each therapy session, mental and physical, he learns he has a new normal. A new life to be okay with, and being stuck on the past for a little while is okay, too. He has a right to mourn. He’s lost a lot in the past few years.

So when Harry waltzes in and takes a seat in the chair (It’s always been Harry’s chair, but Merlin would never tell him that. There’s no reason to.) without making his presence known, Merlin assumes he can handle whatever comes out of his ex-partner’s mouth.

“Why did you and I never get together?”

He’d much rather hear about this date. Prefer it, actually. “Date went sour, I’m assuming?” he responds quickly.

“Not particularly.”

Merlin can feel the stare on his back, and it makes his heart clench. He breathes slowly, hoping that it will calm him. He knows that Harry is waiting for an answer to his question, but his brain is failing him to give an articulate response. There’s no elaborate or articulate response he can give him. He doesn’t want to say that they were together because, selfishly, it’d ruin every amount of progress he’s had. Also, it might become too much of a shock to Harry as he recovers. He’ll eventually remember – maybe. 

“It was simply never in the cards, Harry.”

“What if it was?”

The words echo in Merlin’s ears, and he turns in his seat to look at the other. Harry is wearing the same bloody expression he did 20 years ago when he asked Merlin this exact same question. Gentle, earnest eyes, a soft and sincere smile, but an energy that alludes to nervousness – a trait that rarely ever looms over Harry Hart. Harry swallows. 

Maybe he’s silent too long, and he’s suddenly aware that that his lips are slighted parted from surprise. 

“Hamish?” 

It takes less than a moment for Merlin to compose himself and look back to his monitor. His emotions are screaming at him, ringing in his ears, and scraping at the insides of his chest. He wants to be with Harry, genuinely. He’d love his old lover back, but reason is stabbing at head, poking at his stomach, and pulling at his ribs, telling him it would be all for naught. Merlin would be living with 30 years of history, 20 years of romance, and a whole story that Harry would be (re)living in a new way. 

“It isn’t. Now, get out of my office.”

He can’t see the expression behind him, but he imagines the confusion and the disappointment. 

“You’re not going to give me an explanation as to why?”

He’s curt. “No.”

“I’m not leaving until I get an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you one.” He finally turns to look again at the other.

Both of their voices are raising. Merlin’s having a bite with each comment, and Harry’s becoming more authoritative. 

“Yes, you do because this has to do with both of us. We’ve been best friends for 30 years. I must’ve been remembering our relationship incorrectly if you can’t give me a single reason.” Merlin can hear him stand and get closer to him. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he has been remembering incorrectly.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry. This isn’t some goddamn melodrama,” he exasperates. “If your date went so horribly, don’t try to ask me out to make your foolish arse feel better.” 

“That’s not what this is, Hamish.”

“Then what is it?”

“For the past month, I’ve been having dreams. Of you and I,” Harry starts slowly. “Some are when we were younger, some of us older. Months where we don’t speak, weeks where I can’t get enough of you.” Merlin notices the blush on his cheeks. “But they’re specific. They feel real.”

“They’re dreams, Harry,” Merlin reminds him.

“There was one dream… I was waiting for the extraction team in a bungalow in Poland, but it was interrupted and told you I wouldn’t be home in time for dinner. Yet I still was. I sprained an ankle due to carelessness that you didn’t let me live down, but then–” Harry tries to hold back a cheeky grin. “Let’s just say dinner wasn’t necessarily what one would normally anticipate dinner to be.”

Merlin frowns as words spill from Harry’s mouth. He wants to say that the dream wasn’t real, because dreams aren’t real. But he, too, remembers. They were well into their 30′s and a few years into their relationship. Despite being Harry’s handler and being the best extra set of eyes for him, Merlin couldn’t help but worry when things didn’t always go according to plan. Harry was dealing with a smuggling ring that was transporting counterfeit money and placebo drugs using antiquities as a cover, and the leader of the group was a powerful noble, which made taking him down quite difficult if they resulted to violence. So, they sent Harry undercover as a fellow noble that would be interested in getting involved until things went awry.

The sprained ankle was from simple carelessness. Merlin told Harry not to jump the fence, but Harry jumped the fence anyway. Despite the sprain, he managed to get to safety and wait for the extraction team there. He gave Galahad a stern talking to as he waited, but he gave Harry a warm hug of relief when he came home among other things.

“That’s one dream,” he insists. 

“There are many others I could tell you about, and they feel real enough that we need to discuss us. That is what I want.”

“We’re getting too old to being playing house, Harry.”

“We’ve both almost died time and time again. ‘Too old’ could never be a better reason to live out the rest of our lives together.”

“It’s not what I want.”

There’s a silence. It’s heavy and waited, and Harry won’t remove his eyes from Merlin. Those adoring and earnest eyes. It’s unfortunate that they were supposed to live out their lives together. Were being the keyword. 

“Get out of my office. I don’t want to hear anymore of this,” he finally says. He’s tired, and if they continued to speak of this anymore, Merlin was sure his insides would combust. He is too old to feel like a child with a crush on the boy three desks away. 

Merlin finally lets himself breathe when the footsteps are too far away and he hears his door click.

For 3 months, they speak strictly as Arthur and Merlin. Orders directed and re-directed. It’s a relief for Merlin and makes the weight of his heart feel a little less heavy. During this time, Merlin was well enough to hold trials for new agents. They decided to recruit Percival and Lancelot at the same time, to pay homage to the strong duo they’d lost. Having the trials to focus on, Merlin’s days pass a little bit quicker. They’re down to the last 2 candidates for each seat. Eggsy is betting his money on the small blonde named Florence simply because she reminds him of Roxy. Tequila is gunning for the strapping young black woman who he accidentally calls Whiskey from time to time (”Her name is Eva,” he reminds him). Although, Merlin is observant. He’s developed a keen eye over the years. He could see romance budding between the two women but that’s none of his business. If Chester were alive, that’d be an issue. However, it’s been years, and the world is changing as quickly as it is turning. Who is he to deny anyone affection?

When they speak as Harry and Hamish again, it’s because a mission had gone wrong. They’re scoping out a human trafficker disguising his victims and claiming them as his children to get them across borders. However, the mission was to simply gain intel and staying out of sight. They are on a stake out of sorts, Merlin on watch behind his desk as Arthur and Galahad stay out of sight at a close physical range. The two agents entertain themselves with Eggsy asking Harry questions about Kingsman of the old and what he looks forward to in the new Kingsman, if he’s happy even if his memory is all bits ‘n bobs, and occasionally a naughty tease from Harry about Eggsy and Tilde’s life at home. 

Merlin focuses on the mission, not wanting to engage in personal banter (specifically with Harry). Suddenly, the target is exiting the premises, and then there’s more gunfire than they anticipated as the duo follow. There’s not enough time for Merlin to figure out how it caught wind that the target was being followed, so he merely focuses on the task at hand: keeping his agents alive. They cover each other, riding on the backs of moving vehicles, surfing on car doors down the highway, flips and drifting around obstacles and curbs, following Merlin’s instructions, and apologizing to victims to a damaged vehicle like any gentleman should. Eventually, the cars come to a crash in random lot, and they’re taking cover behind the vehicles and trash cans. 

“I’m out,” Galahad communicates, gesturing to his gun. Harry tosses him a spare magazine. The agent shakes his head. “Fuckin’ spectacular. Just when I thought I was going to be home in time for dinner. Tilde’s gonna be pissed.” 

The gun fire continues, but Merlin sees through Harry’s lenses that he’s stopped. “Arthur?” His view on the monitor wobbles and flits from one spot to another like the world is spinning, similar to when Harry used to see butterflies. “What’s going on?”

He can see Galahad turn to Arthur. “You okay, bruv?” 

“Arthur, stay with me. What’s going on?”

There’s a pause, but the view on the monitor stabilizes. Arthur finally speaks, voice like a grip in his ear. “Nothing.” And Merlin watches as he hurdles himself over the car they’d been using for cover, shots being fired skillfully and with no remorse. He almost doesn’t have to say anything. It’s like Arthur already knows where they’re coming from, where to dodge, recoil, and redirect hits, but this isn’t the point. They aren’t trying to kill all these people. This was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. They are Kingsman, not barbarians. Merlin’s yelling his name for him to relax, _what the hell is going on?_ , and he can very clearly see he’s being blatantly ignored. He’s vaguely aware of Galahad yelling as well, but it’s no use until Merlin tells him to cover Arthur. 

Somehow among the consistent waves of goons, gunfire, and beatings, the target managed to escape. They reconvene in his office once they managed to clean up enough and head back to London. Merlin debriefs them separately. After wishing Eggsy good night, he takes a deep breath. He’s not a psychiatrist, and he can’t claim to know what happened, even if he’s seen it through the monitor before. He can’t even start the conversation with Harry without jostling the man.

“What the fuck was that, Arthur? You’re the leader. Not some agent that can throw his arse into gunfire! On top of that, the target got away because you were so god damn careless!” He’s standing by the monitor, pointing to the footage he’s replaying over and over for the other to see.

“I had to let off some steam.”

“Then do that on your own bloody time! Not when you and another agent’s lives are on the line. I will not have you playing god simply because you to relive your glory days or because you’re Arthur, Harry.”

Harry is silent and brooding in his seat.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Why didn’t you tell us we were together, Hamish?” he questions, finally looking up at the other. His look is heavy, and it’s certainly not the response Merlin was expecting.

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

And it clicks. The swaying of the camera, the adrenaline spike… He doesn’t get to ruminate on it before Harry starts speaking again.

“I thought about it on the plane.” His voice is belittling. “Poland, Venice, Santorini – you and I actually had a mission together in Belize as well in our youth. It ended up successful that we could come home early, but we didn’t. We stayed in the hotel for a few extra days, and for most of it, your cock was up my arse.” While it is a good memory, there’s too much venom in Harry’s voice for him to blush. 

Merlin lets Harry continue.

“For our first anniversary I took you on a romantic walk in a dark forest where the only thing you could see were stars because that was the only way I could hold your hand in public. You asked me to never do something as cheesy as that ever again.

On your 38th birthday, I asked you to marry me and you said no because we couldn’t. I told you that shouldn’t stop us from pretending. You still said no, and we broke up for two months before I took my head out of my arse and decided that being with you is real and not pretend. You deserved that much.”

Merlin’s ears start ringing, his chest heaving for air. He can hear Harry rattling moments of their relationship like they’d never left him, and that scares him. He’s spent almost a full year moving forward, and he thinks he has and yet the memories flood his senses. He swims through the memories as Harry says them, his heart and mind floating back to the island where he’s been left alone since his partner died and didn’t die.

“Stop,” he manages.

“What?”

“Stop. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do, Hamish, because I’ve been robbed of these memories and the only person who could help me remember didn’t. These wonderful and abundant memories, and I had to remember in gun fire. I had to remember because of the amount of times I couldn’t make it home in time for dinner.”

Something in Merlin snaps. He doesn’t know what it is, but every bone, inch of skin, and pore in his body are on fire. They’re yelling over each other with no room for listening.

“You weren’t the only person who was fuckin’ robbed of something, Harry. I lost you. I thought you were dead, and guess what! You’re not, but you didn’t remember a thing.”

“So what? You played martyr until the end. That’s so like you. You didn’t think that I did deserved to remember?”

“You did deserve to remember, Harry. Jesus–” 

“That regardless of what you think a part of me always loved you. I asked you out because I didn’t know we were together for decades.”

“You told me you asked some other bloke out on a date. I was supposed to think that was some kind of sign you remembered–”

“It was just a date!’

“Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

“You’re ignoring the point. I deserved to remember all these years. I should’ve been told something or the slightest bit of effort to remember. I would’ve loved to remember something like this. Not something random like Mr. Pickle used to eat toilet paper and that’s why we-” Merlin shoots him a look. “I put him in the bathroom.”

They stare at each other. Both of them searching for some kind of answer, some kind of hope that ties that together, that despite all this it’d answer whether or not love was really a factor of their relationship anymore.

“You did deserve to know, but I was advised to let you remember on your own. However, you took longer to remember us than you did other things, even proclaiming that you remembered everything that was necessary. So, I eventually–”

“Became the quietest, stupidest, and sensitive martyr to walk the walls of Kingsman,” Harry says with affection. There’s a new glint to his eyes, and Merlin watches him stride forward towards him. He plants his feet to the ground, a hand gripping the edge of his desk. When Harry stands in front of him, he notes its the closest they’ve stood in months. “What are you doing?” Merlin

“Stop it,” he mumbles, trying to shy away from the advances.

“Hamish,” he coos.

“Stop.”

Harry tugs at his jumper with a flirty grin, and Merlin’s heart flutters, stretching and expanding like a butterfly’s wings in his chest. “I don’t think this is a good idea.“ He pushes him away. “Stop it.”

“You’re the one who says we’re getting old.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

A quick pause, their lips barely grazing. “Do you really remember?” he questions, because he needs reassurance. He needs to know that this isn’t going to go away tomorrow, and if kisses the man before he, he won’t be a fleeting memory.

“Would you like a recap of Belize or perhaps our 10th anniversary?” 

“You’re a bastard.”

There’s a laugh and then finally a kiss. The familiarity makes him feel weak at the knees, and if his legs weren’t fake, he’d drop.

It’s a full year before they’re completely settled back into old routine. They’ve finished moving Merlin out of his old flat and into a new one he can share with Harry. Merlin doesn’t wake up every morning wondering if his partner will forget him again, and Harry has fully grown into the role of Arthur, leaving fieldwork behind (which helps Merlin sleep a little better at night). Florence and Eva are respectfully Percival and Lancelot, and Merlin can see the shadow of James and Matthew’s relationship in the two women, fully equipped with Roxy’s spunk, hardwork, and heart. They are currently holding trials for the new Gawain. Tequila’s money is on the American that’s lived in the UK for the past 6 years. It’s a tad unusual, but Tequila’s patriotism as a Statesman matches that of Kingsman with their own Mother Country. 

It’s during meetings in the new dining room Merlin feels the most thankful. He looks around at the agents that have become very near to his heart, the presence of the previous knights that they lost still proudly making themselves known. He looks at Harry at the head of the table as he delivers the mission. The man shoots him a wink, and Merlin denies it straight away with no reaction. However, he couldn’t swell anymore than he is. After all, this is where home is.


End file.
